


The Cool Dad

by kyorl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Touch, Extreme Underage, M/M, bad touch by an authority figure, more dub-con than non-con but jic, tagging it as both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyorl/pseuds/kyorl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafael McCall considers Stiles Stilinski to be like a second son to him. That doesn't stop things from getting a little bad-touchy. And then increasingly more bad-touchy. Stiles doesn't really seem to mind, though....</p><p>(Be warned that Stiles is very underage here. Please read the notes on the first chapter.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _It is to be emphasized that Stiles is very underage here (just barely fourteen) and that this is a work of fiction._
> 
> _Also of note, this is a pre-series alternate universe reality where the McCall divorce still happened but Agent McCall is less of a raging douchebag (and is probably not a Federal Agent, though I don't specify). A kindly, gentler, but far more pervy version of Scott's father than what we get in canon._
> 
> _If the tags don't sound like something you'd enjoy, please don't read. If they do, I hope you enjoy! This was supposed to be part of a longer work, but the rest of what I wrote was lame and so I salvaged this scene._
> 
> _Thanks for taking the time to read this!_

"Take the boys to the beach, they said. It'll be fun, they said," Rafael groused under his breath as he made his way down the ramp from the parking lot to the sand, juggling a long beach umbrella, an oversized beach blanket, and a large cooler full of ice and drinks.

He could probably have gotten Scott and Stiles to cart the cooler between them, but they were only fourteen and both on the scrawny side of slender yet, and there was Scott's asthma to consider. Not to mention Stiles' inherent clumsiness.

Rafael was a big guy and he could handle the cooler's weight. It was just incredibly awkward with the umbrella jammed under his arm and the blanket slipping off the top of the cooler.

"Here, Mr. McCall," Stiles said, darting in and grabbing the blanket just before it hit the sand-scattered asphalt of the walkway.

"Thanks," Rafael grunted. Scott was way ahead, all the way to the beach already, almost at the water line, in fact. He'd dropped the bright buckets that he and Stiles had brought with them in order to make sand castles, but since there was no one else really here, Rafael wasn't concerned about them getting ripped off.

Stiles ranged ahead, the blanket a colorful bundle in his arms, and Rafael really did appreciate the gesture. It might not be much, but the fact that Stiles had thought to stay behind and help was a point in the boy's favor. 

Besides, if it _had_ fallen, Rafael would have had to leave it and then go back for it, and he was glad not to have to make the extra trip.

"How's this look?" he asked Stiles, choosing a random spot where the sand was relatively free of debris and was firm enough that it would hold the umbrella's pole without much give, even if they were there for most of the afternoon. Which was more than likely, since he had two fourteen year olds here who weren't jaded enough to scorn fun, and who had just eaten lunch and therefore could keep going for hours.

"Awesome," Stiles replied distractedly, and Rafael grinned to see that he was watching Scott run around where the waves were lapping at the shore rather than looking at the place Rafael had indicated.

He set down the cooler and let the umbrella fall, then moved to set up a home base. He had Scott and Stiles for the majority of the day and he intended to make the most of every moment.

Rafael was pretty sure that Melissa and Sheriff Stilinski had just wanted a Sunday to spend together without their sons running around, but he enjoyed having the boys and so when Melissa had unsubtly suggested he take both Scott and Stiles to the coast he'd agreed readily enough.

He didn't think he was thrilled over the fact that Melissa and Stilinski were getting closer, but he'd forfeited his claim when he and Melissa had gotten divorced. At least it was Stiles' father that she was dating, and not some stranger. Scott and Stiles were already the next closest thing to brothers; the fact that it might become reality at some point in the future was something that excited them and... well, Rafael figured there were worse things.

And now Rafael got to spend the day with his son and the kid who might as well be his son. Considering the fact that he'd had to get sober and prove that he could _stay_ sober for literally years before Melissa would entrust him with Scott, considering that the Sheriff was still somewhat suspicious of him, this was real progress.

Rafael regretted most of the things that had led to his divorce, and most of them had been his own fault, but he had worked hard to make things right in the time since, and while he knew he couldn't gain back what he'd lost, he could at least be here for Scott now.

And now he got to be the "Cool Dad", the one who took the boys on trips and fed them hot dogs and bought them game systems. He didn't have to be the one to make sure they did their chores, he didn't have to be the one to discipline them if they got in trouble at school. It was freeing and gratifying at once.

"Help me with the blanket?" Rafael asked, catching Stiles' attention while Scott splashed out into the water, yelling about how cold it was.

Even though he was obviously longing to join his best friend, Stiles helped as requested, making sure the blanket was spread evenly underneath the shelter of the beach umbrella. Rafael moved to sit in its shade, eyeing the cooler and thinking longingly of the cold sodas inside, but there was something else he needed to do before he could settle in to relax.

"Stiles," he said, motioning for the boy to join him while with his other hand he dug around in the bag he'd had slung over one shoulder on his way down to the sand. It held bags of chips, Scott's inhaler, and... ah, there it was.

"Yeah?" Stiles queried, crawling under the umbrella, his eyes bright and his face curious.

Rafael wordlessly held up a tube of sunscreen.

"Oh," Stiles realized, glancing down ruefully at his pale chest and stomach as he sat next to Rafael, his scrawny legs stretched out toward the edge of the blanket but still safe in its shade. "Guess that'd be a good idea, huh?"

"Unless you want to go home looking like a boiled lobster," Rafael said, smiling fondly at the boy.

Genetics had guaranteed that Scott could run around in the sun all day without burning, but Stiles hadn't been so lucky in that particular lottery. Rafael was as much the reason Scott didn't burn as Melissa was, so he didn't need the protection, but there was no way he was letting Stiles fry on his watch.

If Melissa and Stilinski were willing to entrust their boys to him -- never mind that Scott was as much Rafael's as he was hers, Melissa had custody -- then Rafael was determined to live up to and exceed that trust. Most especially because he knew it was grudgingly given.

The temptation to be the "Cool Dad" was powerful, and Rafael was admittedly indulging it, what with this trip to the beach, the hot dogs and soda the boys had already had, and the ice cream they were going to get once they were done playing in the sand.

But being the Cool Dad also meant being a _Dad_ , which meant making sure Stiles didn't end the day in red-skinned agony. 

"Let me get your back for you," Rafael offered, not handing over the tube of sunscreen, but instead popping it open and pouring a generous helping into his palm.

Stiles made sounds about how he could do it himself, but he leaned forward obligingly enough as Rafael began smoothing the thick lotion into his bony back. His skin was already dangerously hot and Rafael thought that he'd gotten to Stiles just in time.

Rafael's hand looked huge and dark against Stiles' pale back. He could spread his fingers and cover almost the entire double-wing of Stiles' shoulderblades. Rafael watched, rubbing more and more slowly, savoring the feeling of Stiles' soft skin beneath his palm.

The sunscreen smelled nasty, like chemicals more than coconut, but it felt increasingly smooth and slick as it warmed to his touch, sliding evenly over Stiles' fine skin.

Rafael worked it over the tops of Stiles' broadening shoulders, up the nape of his neck to his hairline, and around the curves of his waist. He wasn't going to leave any bare patches to burn. He wasn't going to be careless with this beautiful young boy entrusted to his care.

Because Stiles _was_ beautiful. He was still growing, still had a long way to go, but that just meant he was small and soft and tender now. He was something that needed gentle handling, and Rafael could be gentle.

Stiles had relaxed as Rafael slowly worked the sunscreen over his back. His breath caught, though, when Rafael slid his fingers underneath the saggy waistband of his swim trunks. The kids wore them a lot lower nowadays than Rafael remembered having done in his own youth, and he wanted to make sure that Stiles wouldn't burn when they sagged even more, possibly drenched and heavy with sea water if Stiles ran into the water with Scott.

He could feel the upper swells of Stiles' ass cheeks, tempting under his fingertips, and he might have lingered there a bit longer than was seemly, but Stiles didn't protest.

He _was_ breathing a little harder, though, and Rafael could see that his hands were clenched into tight fists against his thighs. That was pretty much what decided him, and he removed his hand, squeezing more sunscreen into his palm.

"Lean back, Stiles," he murmured, moving to rub the lotion into Stiles' chest.

"I can do that myself," Stiles squeaked, even though he did as instructed and leaned back to grant Rafael access.

"Let me," he murmured, not bothering to offer any reason, just communicating his desire to do this for Stiles.

Stiles let him, didn't protest any further, but Rafael could see the blush that flooded his cheeks as he began to smooth the sunscreen over his tight little chest and soft stomach.

It might not have been the best choice, but Rafael made sure to be generous with the sunscreen where Stiles' nipples were concerned. They were full and pink, almost like a girl's would have been, and it would be a shame if these sweet peaks burned, Rafael thought fondly.

Stiles was breathing more heavily as Rafael traced his fingertips around the areolas, making absolutely certain they were coated in sunscreen. His nipples hardened at his lingering touch, perky now and Stiles let out a small sound that was more than likely completely involuntary as Rafael made sure they were liberally dosed with the sunscreen as well.

"Don't want you to burn here," Rafael murmured, leaning in close, watching what he was doing with a rapt gaze. Stiles whimpered faintly and nodded, biting at his lower lip.

Rafael could see, as he mercifully left off Stiles' pink nipples, that there was s definite swelling in Stiles' swim trunks, even though he had his knees drawn up to try and disguise this fact.

That was why he felt no shame as he renewed the sunscreen on his hand and ran his fingers down Stiles' stomach and under the waistband of his trunks, in the front this time.

Ostensibly he had he same reason as before. He didn't want Stiles burning, anywhere. But he had to admit that there was a thrill of guilty pleasure that went through him when his bold fingertips encountered a thin little thatch of crinkly hairs, down where Stiles was growing into a man and quite effectively stretching out his trunks.

Before Rafael could offer to help Stiles with that -- so ill advised, but _so_ tempting -- Scott was calling to Stiles from the waterline, waving and chiding Stiles for being a slowpoke.

"Get your legs," Rafael commanded, filling his palm once more before handing the tube of lotion over to Stiles. It was awkward, smearing it all over Stiles' scrawny arms at the same time as the boy obediently coated his own legs, but they made it work. And Rafael kept his movements brisk and businesslike, so that Stiles' hard-on was mostly gone by the time the two of them were done.

"Now you shouldn't burn," Rafael told Stiles as he clambered gracelessly out from under the umbrella and got to his feet. "But if you start to feel too warm, come back here and we'll put more sunscreen on."

Stiles' cheeks blazed as he nodded, which reminded Rafael.

"Hang on," he said, and kneeling up he made quick work of covering Stiles' cheeks, forehead, chin, and the bridge of his nose. Stiles held still, chin raised, as Rafael carefully wrapped his hand around his throat. Rafael could feel his Adam's-apple bob as he swallowed, then he smeared the sunscreen up to the stark lines of his jaw, then down to his clavicle bones, getting the last bit of un-anointed skin.

"Be careful," he added, as Scott pounded over, soaking wet and looking gleeful. "I don't want to take a lobster home."

Stiles nodded solemnly, then smiled shyly. "Thank you," he said, as Scott dragged him away, off into the sand and the sea water to play.

Rafael sighed and sat back, determined to keep an eye on both of them and to make sure they had some water out of the cooler to drink in about half an hour.

Also, Stiles might need his sunscreen renewed by then. Rafael was ready to help him with that a second time if it was necessary.

Hey, he might be the "Cool Dad", but he was also conscientious, and Stiles was his to look after, at least for today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So evidently this is a series now.... Heh. Thanks to a certain someone for their cheerleading; it has been invaluable!

Rafael was just finishing up the paperwork he'd regrettably had to bring home on a Friday night and the clock was just rolling around to eleven, getting closer to it being technically Saturday morning, when a prickling at the back of his neck made him aware he wasn't alone.

"What's up, kiddo?" he asked, knowing before he turned that it would be Stiles. 

He'd have been able to hear Scott breathing, even though his asthma was doing okay right now, and besides, Scott always conked off almost immediately and slept like the dead. Whereas, every single night that Scott and Stiles stayed over with Rafael, Stiles woke and wandered around; sometimes before Rafael went to bed himself, sometimes after.

Rafael strongly suspected that the boy suffered from nightmares, even though he'd never had any confirmation of this guess. It might just be insomnia.... But Rafael sort of thought that it might have something to do with the fact that Stiles had been there when Claudia Stilinski had died, and that his father _hadn't_ been, and that this had happened when Stiles had been only eight.

That was all a little too personal, though, and Rafael didn't figure it was any of his business, since Stiles seemed fine most other times. He never did anything untoward when he wandered out of the bedroom, even when he was unsupervised, so Rafael didn't feel right prying.

As expected, Stiles was lurking in the living room doorway when Rafael turned to look. His hair was sleep-tussled, his cheeks were pink, and he had heavy eyelids, but he was definitely awake and it didn't seem he'd be falling asleep any time soon.

"Come on," Rafael beckoned, even though Stiles hadn't yet answered his question. It had been more rhetorical than anything else, anyway, just to let Stiles know that Rafael knew he was there.

Stiles padded into the living room obediently, his bare feet nearly silent on the carpet. He was wearing a teeshirt and boxers and his legs were long and pale, practically glowing in the lamp light Rafael had been working in. 

It had only been a few weeks since the last time Rafael had seen him, when he'd taken both the boys to the beach, but he thought that Stiles was already a little taller. Well, he and Scott were at the age when they would begin to shoot up almost daily.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled, nodding to indicate Rafael's paperwork.

"I was just done," Rafael assured him truthfully, collecting it and shoving it in his briefcase. And glad to be shed of it, too. "Do you wanna watch some tee vee with me?" he offered.

Stiles nodded, nibbling on his lower lip. His mouth was red and swollen, as though he'd already been chewing on his lips, or... well, Rafael knew, even though Stiles would have been mortified if he'd known Rafael knew, that the boy still sucked his thumb on occasion.

Which he especially might have been doing if he'd been self-soothing after a nightmare or something. He was fourteen, far too old for thumb-sucking, but he was also undeniably orally fixated, and everything seemed to go in his mouth, between those plump red lips, including his thumb when he thought no one was looking.

Rafael did his best to banish that titillating mental image, though, as Stiles joined him on the sofa, smelling of boyish sweat and the chocolate they'd had for dessert. It was pungent but not unpleasant.

Stiles scooted in readily enough as Rafael stretched his arm out, offering him a place at his side, literally. Stiles was warm and he settled against Rafael as though he belonged there, fitting perfectly into his embrace.

Rafael grabbed the remote with his free hand, resisting the sudden urge to cup Stiles' ass, instead letting his hand spread loosely over top of the boy's boney hip. He turned on the television and found a movie to watch that neither of them had seen, which looked as though it would keep their attention. 

"Thanks for not choosing a kids' movie," Stiles murmured, pulled his lanky legs up onto the couch and cuddling close. Rafael wondered if he was chilly, but he felt warm enough to the touch and the temperature in the apartment was moderate. "Scott's Mom seems to think we're still in elementary school or something. She won't even let us watch PG-13 movies, and we're both over thirteen!"

Rafael chuckled at the outrage in Stiles' voice. "She's just trying to protect you both," he offered, because he knew it was true. "And it's hard to see a teenage boy when she looks at you. She still sees the little boy you used to be."

Stiles craned his neck to look up at Rafael, his expression curious. "What about you?" he asked, his lashes fluttering faintly. "What do you see when you look at me?"

Maybe it was complete coincidence that this was the moment that Stiles' nearer hand came to rest on Rafael's thigh, light but bold. Rafael chose to read it as an innocent gesture, and did his best to ignore the sensations it was giving him as he answered Stiles' question honestly.

"I see the boy I've always known, but I also see a teenager who's beginning to grow into a man."

Stiles flushed prettily, casting his gaze back to the tee vee. Rafael somehow didn't stiffen or drag in a sharp breath as Stiles' long, nimble fingers started plucking at the inside seam of the jeans he was wearing, but it was a very near thing.

"I feel a long way from being a man," Stiles said, nearly nonexistent nails digging at the seam and sending sparks of sensation through Rafael's entire body. His cock was getting harder and longer, snaking down the leg of his pants; thankfully it was the opposite leg to the one Stiles was still _touching_.

"But you've come a long way from being a child," Rafael offered softly. His voice came out husky, but he hoped Stiles wouldn't realize the reason why, would just chalk it up to it being the middle of the night.

"I guess," Stiles mused, and Rafael could see his lower lip plumping in profile as he seemed to ponder this statement. "I'm certainly jerking off way more than I did as a child."

Rafael felt that blunt declaration go through him like a shaft of heat, all the way from the top of his head down to a suddenly rubbery feeling his knees, with an extra burst of pressure to his rapidly swelling cock.

He knew that, largely due to his ADHD, Stiles had a habit of just blurting out whatever was on his mind, however inopportune or awkward it might be. But Rafael was beginning to realize that now that Stiles was barreling headlong into puberty this might become a bit more of an issue than it had been previously.

"Um," he said lamely, and since he just couldn't think of anything to follow that utterance up with in response to Stiles' remarkable statement, he remained quiet. Stiles didn't say anything more either and the room fell into a relatively comfortable silence; aside from the dialogue of the movie, that was. 

They watched the movie, and Stiles remained where he was, leaning against Rafael's side, warm and breathing softly, smelling of chocolate and boy-sweat. He was still, much more still than he usually was, but he was clearly nowhere near falling asleep.

Rafael should probably have been tired. It was late, it was the end of the work week, and he'd had an extra long day, not to mention two rambunctious young boys to look after between getting off work and sending them to bed. But there was no way he was going to feel the slightest bit sleepy when Stiles' hand was still on his thigh, fingers still occasionally twitching and plucking at the inseam of his jeans.

Somehow without his meaning to -- no, seriously -- Rafael found he was slouching lower and lower, slumped into the sofa cushions. This was partially in an effort to get more comfortable, and partially in an attempt to hide his hard-on. Which was still present; how could it not be when Stiles' hand was mere inches away, spread over the entire top of his leg?

Stiles had large hands and feet for his age, Rafael thought fondly, no more than a fraction of his attention on the movie, almost all of it focused on the boy pressed against his side. That bode well for... other things. 

Well, he'd seen Stiles naked before, even though it had been several years before he had hit puberty, and Rafael could attest that the promise of the size of certain portions of Stiles' anatomy were borne out by the reality. 

Rafael had even bigger hands, of course. He was a large man, and he'd been full grown for longer than Stiles had been alive. And the portions of _his_ anatomy in question were definitely to match.

Which wouldn't have been at all relevant, if he hadn't, in scooting down, somehow inadvertently brought Stiles' hand closer to his semi-hard cock. This hadn't been his intent _at all_... but it did seem like a fortunate happenstance.

Especially when Stiles fidgeted, his hand almost spasming, fingers scratching along the seam of the jeans, and the heel of his palm actually brushed the head of Rafael's cock where it was trapped in his opposite pant leg.

It was only the slightest amount of pressure, but it was on a very sensitive spot and it went through Rafael's entire body even more than Stiles words had done previously.

The movie was more than halfway through and Rafael had no idea what the plot was. His slump had evidently had a secondary effect, in that his hand was now spread over Stiles' flank. Just a bit lower than his ass -- though the outer curve of his butt cheek was flush against Rafael's wrist -- with his fingers holding onto the meat of Stiles' upper thigh where his leg was its thickest.

This hadn't been a deliberate move on Rafael's part, but now that he had noticed he had no intention of removing his grip. It felt good to hold Stiles like this. He could feel the faintest fuzz of hair on Stiles' thigh and realized that his boxers were riding up and Rafael's fingertips were touching skin.

Soft and delicate skin, as smooth as a woman's would be, but the hair beginning to grow marked him as a boy on his way to becoming a man, just like Rafael had said.

Stiles' fingertips twitched again, nails scraping over denim, and the heel of his palm seemed to push against Rafael's cock with more certainty. It was probably just Rafael's imagination, it had probably been a completely unconscious move, but he couldn't help his own hand moving in reaction.

The pads of his fingers slid over Stiles' thigh, just the smallest amount, but it felt like everything when that was where almost all of his attention was focused.

Well, there and on his cock, which was practically underneath Stiles' palm as it grew even thicker and lengthened with the stimulation, however inadvertent said stimulation was. 

Any time now Stiles was going to notice; it was going to be impossible for him not to. Rafael was grateful for loose fitting jeans, but he was well endowed and was growing increasingly aroused.

This was more intense than rubbing Stiles' back and chest with sunscreen at the beach had been, even though Rafael had his hands on far less bare skin. 

For one thing, Stiles was touching _him_ now. For another, they were curled close together on Rafael's sofa in the stillness of midnight while Scott slept soundly down the hall, rather than at a public beach with Scott running around nearby.

It was like being in their own little bubble of time and space. A bubble filled with the musky scent of Stiles' skin, and the soft sound of his breathing. A bubble filled with the warmth of Stiles' closeness and the rising heat that was radiating from Rafael's core, making him sweat, just a little, under his arms and at his temples.

Rafael had tried dating a few times since the divorce, _after_ he'd gotten his life pulled back together, but no woman he'd been with had made him feel half as turned on and tender at the same time as he did now, with Stiles curled up beside him.

Well, he'd known Stiles since he'd been tiny. He'd watched the boy grow. Rafael had been a really shitty father and husband for a while there. But he was back on track now and he felt like he was almost as much Stiles' father as he was Scott's, despite the fact that Stiles still had a living father; one with whom he was very close from what Rafael could tell.

All of this only served to make Rafael feel closer to Stiles, though. It didn't make the way he was touching the boy seem wrong. 

Rafael knew, objectively, that the Sheriff would have shot him and Melissa would have castrated him if either of them had had so much as an inkling of how he was touching Stiles. At the beach a couple of weeks ago and here, now, tonight.

But they didn't know. They trusted him. 

And, more importantly, Stiles trusted him.

Rafael wouldn't do anything to hurt Stiles. Not now and not ever. Scott was his son, his baby boy, and Rafael would have killed anyone who dared to touch him the way he was currently touching Stiles. But Stiles wasn't Scott, and Rafael wasn't some strange man. He knew the boy, and it might make him the world's biggest hypocrite, but there was no way he was going to be able to keep his hands off of Stiles.

Besides, there was no point in over-thinking things. Not when he had Stiles virtually on his lap right now.

Rafael wondered briefly what it might be like to actually pull Stiles up onto his thighs. Oh, sure, he'd had the boy on his lap more times than he could count; reading bedtime stories, getting him calmed down after a spat with Scott, helping him tie his shoes, and various other instances through the years.

But this was different. Now Stiles was a teenager. Now Stiles had lengthening limbs and the faintest shadowy hint of a potential mustache on his upper lip, and he evidently masturbated on a regular basis. Not to mention, right now Rafael had a growing hard-on, which Stiles would have been sitting right on top of....

Rafael wondered whether Stiles had any idea what he was doing to him, if he'd even noticed that Rafael had an erection. He wondered if Stiles was hard, like he had been at the beach. It was impossible to tell, with Stiles' legs drawn up nearly to his chest the way they were.

Stiles' hand had stilled, while Rafael had been lost in thought, and his body had slowly but surely become heavier where he was leaning into Rafael's larger form. As the movie's credits began to roll, Rafael realized with a small huff of ironic amusement and a little shake of his head that Stiles had fallen asleep on him.

Well, he must not have been _too_ turned on. Not if he'd drifted off like this.

That was assuming that he'd ever been turned on at all, Rafael mused as he switched off the entertainment system and collected Stiles into his arms. The way he'd had his hand on Rafael's thigh might well have been completely incidental, after all.

Stiles' cheek was still plump despite his adolescence, and it was warm and soft against Rafael's shoulder as he hefted the boy, holding him closely against his chest and carrying him back to the room the boys shared when they were here.

When Rafael had gotten this apartment and furnished it, he'd set the room up as much for Stiles as Scott. Because even though Scott was the one who was his son, where Scott was, Stiles almost always was. So it had only made sense to get two twin beds and a dresser big enough to hold some clothing for Stiles as well as Scott.

As Rafael entered the room, Scott was laying on his back on his own twin bed, covers half off, arms and legs all akimbo. There was a nightlight glowing in the corner, which Rafael had bought so that he wouldn't have to keep leaving the door cracked when the boys were here. He knew it was for Stiles' sake, but both he and Scott had made like he'd gotten it for his own son.

Rafael set Stiles down on his bed and the boy grumbled faintly, incoherently, curling onto his side and nuzzling the pillow, then pressing his thumb against his lower lip. He stilled again before sliding it inside, going limp, and within moments his breathing had become as soft and steady as Scott's was. 

Rafael pulled his covers up, gently settling them over Stiles' body. He hoped that Stile would sleep through the night and not go wandering around the apartment once he'd gone to bed himself. There was no guarantee that Stiles was down for the night, but at least he _was_ asleep.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress for a moment and ran his fingers through Stiles' hair. It was soft and he knew that Stiles' father would probably have it all buzzed off again soon. Which was a shame, because the longer hair framed Stiles' angular yet still soft face nicely.... But he was Sheriff Stilinski's child, not Rafael's.

Pressing a kiss to Stiles' smooth forehead, Rafael rose to his feet. Even though he'd already tucked Scott in, and even though both boys were clearly sound asleep, Rafael crossed the room and gave his son a kiss on the forehead as well. 

Scott slept on, and Rafael petted his head gently. It felt different than stroking Stiles' hair. Completely different. Which was something of a relief, he had to admit. He loved his son, and he loved Stiles. But Scott was like a child still and he was Rafael's child. Stiles might as well have been Rafael's son... but he was definitely not Rafael's child. There was a distinction there that was impossible to fully put into words, but which was very clear in his mind.

Leaving the boys to sleep, Rafael went and brushed his teeth then went to the effort of taking a leak with a cock that was still half hard. Evidently it still wanted Stiles, even if Rafael had been able to take his mind off that for a brief period of time.

It seemed a little wrong, going to his bedroom and jerking off when either boy could come in at any moment... but Rafael wasn't a man inclined to deny himself anything pleasurable. And after Stiles' hand had practically been on his crotch for a good hour, after his palm had actually _touched_ it, however lightly and inadvertently, well, Rafael was a little keyed up.

Nothing disastrous happened -- though he had to wonder how bad it really would have been if Stiles had walked in on him masturbating, especially after the boy had admitted to doing so himself -- and once he'd gotten off he felt much more relaxed, felt as though he might be able to sleep.

And in fact, he slept so soundly that when he woke the next morning he was legitimately surprised to find that at some time in the night Stiles had crawled under the covers with him, and was huddled against him, on his opposite side this time, sound asleep and drooling on his bare chest.

"What?" he coughed out, blinking. This was the moment in which Scott banged in through his bedroom door, already dressed and demanding pancakes for breakfast. Stiles startled and Rafael shooed Scott out of his bedroom, promising he'd be there momentarily.

"Nightmares," Stiles mumbled, once he was awake enough to form words, rubbing his eyes and looking impossibly adorable with his bed-head hair and pink cheeks.

He didn't meet Rafael's eyes as he said it, but Rafael wasn't ready to deal with _anything_ until he'd had his morning coffee and he could hear Scott banging around in the kitchen already, so he took it at face value and just kissed Stiles absently on the top of his fuzzy head as he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress.

"You okay now?" Rafael asked, getting dressed with his back to Stiles, since his cock was evidently interested in the fact that they'd woken up in bed together.

"Yeah." Stiles yawned widely, and Rafael couldn't help himself; he had to turn around to see how Stiles looked, sitting on his bed.

He looked like he belonged there, that was how he looked. His long, pale legs were crossed in front of him, his boxers all bunched up as though he had morning wood -- and he was only just fourteen, chances were he _did_ \-- his teeshirt had gone missing at some point so he was bare-chested, and his nipples were as pink as Rafael remembered them being at the beach. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his mouth was a dark red, moist, hanging open, and his cheeks were flushed prettily. 

Combining all that with his messy hair, he looked as though he'd been thoroughly debauched and was waiting to be thoroughly debauched all over again. And his sleepy gaze seemed to be fixed on... Rafael's bare chest?

Suddenly something fell with a loud shattering crash in the kitchen, and they both jumped slightly. 

"I'm okay!" Scott called, but he sounded slightly frantic, and Rafael's fatherly instincts kicked in. 

"Don't touch anything," he ordered, grabbing a shirt and pulled it on.

"But then it'll all get under the fridge!" 

Rafael cursed under his breath, and Stiles covered his mouth, eyes bright, and he was _giggling_ , the little brat.

"I'll be right there," Rafael called, arousal almost completely forgotten as he strode out of his bedroom to see what domestic disaster his son had wrought.

Of course, the image of Stiles in his bed hung around the back of his mind, even while he was wielding a mop and handfuls of paper towels, then once everything was clean, a mixing bowl, whisk, and frying pan. Add to that the fact that it was a good ten minutes before Stiles joined them, looking even _more_ flushed and rumpled rather than less....

Well, eating pancakes with the boys was a good way to distract himself. And talking to Melissa when she arrived to pick up Scott and Stiles a little before noon kept him from thinking about the way Stiles had evidently snuck into his bed in the early morning hours.

But when he went back to his bedroom and the scent of Stiles' body was settled in his sheets... when he thought about the possibility that Stiles might have jerked off there rather than the bathroom before joining the two McCall males in the kitchen... when he recalled the way Stiles' hand had felt on his thigh, brushing against his cock....

Well, Rafael really felt that he could be excused for bringing himself off again. At least the boys weren't in the apartment anymore.

Not that this had stopped him the night before. Not that he felt any residual shame over that fact. Or over indulging himself now.

If Stiles weren't so tempting, Rafael wouldn't be tempted. Long and short of the matter really was as simple as that.

He did kind of wonder, though, if Stiles _knew_ how tempting he was being....

That didn't matter right now. But it was definitely something to think about for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evidently this will be a slow-burn too, lol. Who can say what the next part will bring, though. ^_~


	3. Chapter 3

When Rafael McCall got home from work on a normal Tuesday evening, he found Stiles Stilinski having a panic attack in front of his door.

That was more than moderately unexpected. As was the fact that Stiles was here with no Scott to be seen. Of course, Rafael was pretty sure that Scott didn't even _know_ about Stiles' panic attacks. He knew that Stiles tended to view them as a weakness and tried to hide them, even from his own father.

So the fact that Stiles was having one on Rafael's figurative doorstep, allowing Rafael to see him so vulnerable, meant that either he trusted Rafael a great amount or else he was in some dire distress. Possibly both.

Probably both.

Concerned, Rafael knelt quickly beside the heavily gasping boy, who was slumped to the right of his door, legs pulled up to his chin, hands crossed in front of his face as though he was in a defensive huddle. Rafael reached out and carefully grasped Stiles' wrists, pulling lightly, trying to give him a physical touch that he hoped might help to ground him at the same time he uncovered Stiles' face.

"Hey, kiddo," he said softly, leaning in and attempting to meet Stiles' eyes. They were squeezed tightly closed, though, tears shining on his lashes. "Hey, you okay? What's wrong?"

He didn't get an answer and Stiles only seemed to be working himself up more, so Rafael unlocked the door, dropped his briefcase and the backpack that had been lying next to Stiles just inside, then bent and gathered Stiles into his arms, carrying him into his living room. 

It had been easier when Stiles had been four -- or even ten -- rather than fourteen, but Rafael wasn't about to complain. Stiles was clearly incapable of moving under his own agency at this point.

He settled on the sofa, holding Stiles in his lap, doing his best to remain calm and ease the boy out of his panic attack. This was only the second time he'd seen Stiles have one, but after the first time he'd researched how to deal with it.

Part of him wanted to check his phone to see if there were any messages from Melissa or Stiles' father, but he hadn't heard any notification sounds and he wanted to keep all of his attention on Stiles.

He certainly _hoped_ that nothing had happened to Scott or the Sheriff. He couldn't imagine what else might have gotten Stiles to this state.... But if anything had gone horribly wrong, why would Stiles have come to _him_? 

That thought was what was keeping him from panicking himself. If there was something seriously wrong with Scott, Stiles would have been with his own father or Melissa. If anything had happened to his Dad, he'd surely be with Scott and Melissa, right? So this _had_ to be something else.

That was what Rafael told himself, and he did what he could to get Stiles calmed down enough to tell him what was happening. Stiles had come to him, which meant that Stiles trusted him, and if Stiles was here instead of with his father or his best friend, there had to be a reason. Rafael needed to find out what that reason was.

"So what happened?" he asked, as soon as he thought he had Stiles talked down enough that he might be able to speak. At least Stiles was _breathing_ now, though his narrow chest was still heaving.

"I-- I--"

Rafael ran his fingers soothingly through Stiles' hair as his words hitched and broke. Stiles stared up at him desperately, lashes wet and starred around red eyes, his cheeks blotchy and flushed, his fingers clutching at the front of Rafael's work shirt. 

"It's okay," Rafael murmured. "Take your time. It's okay."

"Not okay," Stiles gasped out, fresh tears popping out along his lower lids. "I-- I broke my Mom's m-music box. I didn't-- I didn't even-- I just touched it, I just touched it and it fell and it _broke_."

He practically wailed the last words, then collapsed against Rafael's shoulder, shaking with thick, wracking sobs, his entire body shuddering.

Rafael gathered the boy close, holding him as he cried. He understood the panic attack now, but he couldn't help feeling relieved despite Stiles' obvious distress, because this meant that everyone both Rafael and Stiles cared about was okay. Also, he was relieved because Stiles might be crying but he was no longer caught up in a full-fledged panic attack.

Rafael shushed Stiles and held him close while he cried himself out, soaking the shoulder of Rafael's shirt with tears... and probably some snot and saliva as well, but he wasn't going to focus on that. He was focusing on getting Stiles calmed down.

Eventually Stiles cried himself out, and he practically peeled himself off of Rafael's shoulder, sniffling and garbling out a wet sound that might have been, "Sorry."

Rafael's kissed his forehead -- the skin somewhat clammy under his lips -- threading his fingers through Stiles' hair soothingly.

"Go into the bathroom and blow you nose, maybe wash your face, while I go and get changed," he directed gently.

Stiles slid reluctantly off his lap, scrubbing at his cheeks with the sleeves of his hoodie. He looked about eight years old again, and Rafael's heart ached when he thought back to the reason Stiles had looked so damaged when he'd been eight....

Eight was too young to lose a parent. Especially when one was right there in the room with them as they died. It was no wonder Stiles had lost it over his mother's music box.

"Did you bring it with you?" he asked. "In your backpack?" He gestured toward where he had left Stiles' bag in the entryway.

Stiles nodded, swallowing thickly.

"After I change I'll take a look at it, okay?" Rafael offered, trying to sound as reassuring as he could.

Stiles nodded silently again, his throat still working, and then headed dutifully off to the bathroom, still rubbing at his face.

Rafael went into his bedroom and changed out of his damp shirt, getting into a pair of jeans and a blue sweater over a white teeshirt. Running a hand through his mussed hair, he walked back out into the living area.

Stiles was just emerging from the bathroom. His eyes, nose, cheeks, and lips were all a bright red, and he was still sniffling pathetically even though Rafael was pretty sure he'd blown his nose as directed. He'd really nearly cried himself sick, and Rafael thought he was just lucky Stiles hadn't actually made himself ill.

"It'll be okay, kiddo," he promised, reaching over and palming the back of Stiles' neck, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

Stiles' chin crunched up and his lips pulled down at the corners, but he didn't start crying again. Instead, he went and retrieved his backpack and Rafael led him into the kitchen.

"Unload it," Rafael directed, pouring some water into his kettle and grabbing a couple of packets of instant hot chocolate and mugs. He felt like Stiles could use a warm drink, and he needed something fortifying himself after dealing with Stiles' emotions. He couldn't remove his attention from Stiles long enough to take the time to make a pot of coffee, and it was late for caffeine anyway, so cocoa would have to do.

Stiles carefully pulled the music box in question out of his backpack, handling it with his long, lean fingers as though it was a treasure. Well, after all, to him it was. 

It _was_ lovely, Rafael thought, all gold and mahogany, and it didn't look broken to him. At least, not until Stiles lifted the lid.

Then he could see that one of the delicate hinges had been wrenched loose, and the porcelain ballerina was lying on her side instead of standing up. Also, there was no music.

Rafael poked at it a little, then reached over to palm Stiles' nape again, trying to calm him as much with touch as tone. "Let me get my tool box, okay?" he offered, keeping his voice calm and certain. "I'm pretty sure I can fix most of the damage."

Stiles nodded, fingers flexing around his mug of hot chocolate, knuckles white. He wasn't drinking it, but he seemed to be taking comfort from its warmth, and that was good enough for Rafael.

With some judicious application of super glue and a few turns of his tiniest screwdriver, Rafael managed to get the ballerina upright and the lid opening and closing smoothly. Stiles was leaning in, watching intently, breathing through his open mouth, one hand clutching tightly at Rafael's nearer knee. 

Normally the heavy breathing might have annoyed Rafael, but he knew that Stiles' nose was probably still stuffed up from crying so hard. Besides, he was used to it from when Scott's asthma got bad, and -- completely unrelated to his son's health -- Stiles' heavy breathing combined with the fingers clinging to his leg made him feel a little bit turned on.

Not as much as that night on the sofa, though. Because Stiles was still distressed, and Rafael was helping him to repair a precious item that has been his mother's.

"Do you think you can fix the music part?" Stiles asked, gazing up at Rafael earnestly, something awed and worshipful in his gaze. Rafael could admit it; he liked being looked at like that. It was one thing to be the "Cool Dad", the one that got to have more fun with the boys than the parents that they lived with. But it was another thing to be the Dad who could make things right, who could garner that sort of respect, and to have actually _earned_ it.

Not that Stiles was actually Rafael's son, of course. But he might just as well have been for how close he and Scott were, for how much time Rafael had spent with Stiles while both boys were growing up; aside from those dark years after the divorce when he'd been pulling himself back together, that was.

"I'll give it a shot," Rafael said, reaching over and ruffling Stiles' hair. "I can't promise anything, because I'm nothing like an expert at this, but I know how important it is to you."

Stiles nodded and sat back to give him space -- which kind of disappointed Rafael, even though he did need to room to work -- and took a couple big swallows of his cooling cocoa.

"Thank you," he said simply, but there was so much emotion in those two words.

Rafael began to take the music box apart, being careful of the parts he'd already fixed even though the glue was already dry and the screw seemed pretty firm.

"Listen, kiddo," he said softly, concentrating on what he was doing but feeling as though he needed to say this. "I'm going to tell you something, and you might not believe me, but I want you to listen, okay?"

"Okay," Stiles agreed readily enough, though Rafael could see him frowning a little in his peripheral vision. 

Rafael glanced over and gave him an encouraging smile. "It's this. Things don't matter as much as you might think they do."

Stiles blinked, still frowning, but in thought now. 

"What I mean," Rafael continued, poking at the insides of the music box, "Is that even though physical items can be nice and they can connect us emotionally with people who are gone, it's the actual people who are important."

"I get it," Stiles said, his voice low and intense. "I know that. But Mom is _gone_. And it's getting hard to remember things, like how she laughed and how she smelled. Sometimes physical things can help me remember, you know? I hear that music and it makes me feel like I felt when she was in the bedroom, getting jewelry out of this music box."

Rafael nodded, setting the music box carefully aside for a moment, reaching out to fold Stiles into a tight hug.

"I know, Stiles, I know," he offered, rubbing soothing spirals on Stiles' back. He _did_ know. Rafael's father had died when he'd been eighteen, and while that had been a long time ago, and while he'd been ten years older then than Stiles had been when _his_ mother had died, he definitely knew how it felt to lose a parent. It had been devastating at the time and still ached. 

He could only imagine how much worse it must be for Stiles, when he'd still been so young, when he'd been _there_ for Claudia's actual death, when she'd been his mother and one half of his world....

"I didn't mean to break it," Stiles said, his voice watery and wobbly, his skinny arms awkwardly coming up to cinch around Rafael's chest, holding on tight. "I swear I just went to leave and bumped it, and then it was on the floor."

"Well, that's understandable; you're at the age when your body is hard to control," Rafael pointed out.

Stiles unexpectedly gave a wet chuckle. "In more ways than one," he commented, pulling back.

Rafael arched a brow. Chalk it up to youthful resilience, but it was nice to see Stiles bouncing back so quickly from his emotional turmoil. And cracking what sounded a lot like a sexual innuendo....

"I've always been clumsy," Stiles murmured, sitting back and rubbing at his eyes again. "I don't think I'll ever grow out of it."

Rafael wasn't quite sure what to say to that. Chances were Stiles was right, because a fair amount of his clumsiness was due to carelessness, and that was probably related to the fact that he was so easily distracted, but it seemed mean to point that out to the boy. After all, Stiles couldn't help his ADHD, which was a large contributing factor.

And even if he did grow out of his clumsiness, it wouldn't be for years yet. Which would be small comfort to Stiles right now.

Still, there was something that Rafael _could_ do. And, in fact, it was quite easy for him to fix the music box in the end, because once he started poking around inside its innards he found a little sliver of wood that had jammed it. Once that was removed, it worked just fine.

"It's not one-hundred percent," he said, looking at it critically, then sliding it across the table top toward Stiles. "But it's the best I can do."

Stiles clasped it reverently, his face lighting up and his mouth curling into a wide smile. "Thank you," he rasped, his voice still hoarse from crying, but his eyes bright and clear. "Thank you so much."

"Your Dad could probably have done the same," Rafael demurred, because he enjoyed being the "Cool Dad" but he knew it was the truth, and he didn't want to come between Stiles and his father in any way.

Stiles nodded, carefully wrapping the music box in the towel he'd had it cushioned with inside his backpack, and then stowing it back inside said backpack.

"I know," he said, zipping it closed, and slinging it over his shoulder as he stood. "But I didn't want him to know I broke it."

"He wouldn't be mad," Rafael told him, because he was relatively certain that this statement was true.

Stiles shrugged uncomfortably. "I know. But I just... I didn't want him to know."

"All right," Rafael said mildly. He understood. Without knowing for sure, he could guess that Claudia was a delicate subject for both Stiles and his father. He didn't think Stiles was worried about getting in trouble, per se. He just didn't want his Dad thinking he'd been careless, and he didn't want to remind the man of his wife's death either.

"You won't tell him, will you?" Stiles asked, suddenly anxious.

"I'm perfectly willing to keep your secrets," Rafael promised him. After all, he had some secrets of his own that he dearly hoped Stiles was going to keep for _him_. Like the care he had paid the boy's nipples while covering him in sunscreen at the coast....

"And you won't tell him or Scott about my panic attack?"

"No, I won't."

Stiles nodded, looking relieved and grateful.

"Scott wouldn't judge you," Rafael felt the need to point out. "After all, you've seen him during more than one asthma attack."

Stiles shook his head. "It's different," he declared, fingers clenching on his backpack straps. "I just don't want...."

"It's okay," Rafael assured him. "I'm not saying anything. To anyone."

"Thank you," Stiles said again. "And thank you for fixing my Mom's music box."

Rafael opened his mouth to acknowledge this thanks, but before he could speak, Stiles had darted in and pressed a heavy, hot-chocolate flavored kiss to his lips.

"I gotta head home," Stiles said rapidly, cheeks burning, as Rafael just sat there trying to process what had just happened, his mouth still partway open, and before Rafael could react, Stiles had spun on his heel and was on his way out of the apartment.

"Huh," Rafael grunted, blinking. He couldn't imagine that Stiles kissed his father that way, and Rafael himself certainly never kissed either Stiles or Scott like that....

Well, that was telling, he thought, as he packed his tool kit away and put the empty hot chocolate mugs in the sink. A part of him wished Stiles hadn't rushed off like that, but the greater part of him knew that it had probably been a good thing.

Now he knew how Stiles' plush lips felt when kissing him, and that was something that he'd never really expected he'd experience. It made him wonder about the future, and he also wondered....

If maybe he wasn't as alone in this as he had thought.

Whatever "this" was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have a helping of emotions added into the mix. Don't worry, the next chapter should have more naughtiness and less angst.


	4. Chapter 4

When Rafael came home from exercising after work and found Stiles on his doorstep for the fourth time in a week and a half he decided he was going to have to get the kid a key made. It just wasn't safe for the boy to wait outside Rafael's apartment like this, no matter that he lived in a relatively safe neighborhood.

"Scott has a girlfriend," Stiles announced, as though Rafael wasn't already aware, jumping to his feet and dancing impatiently out of his way like an eager puppy.

"Allison, right?" Rafael offered as he unlocked the door, because he at least knew that much.

Stiles nodded vigorously, trotting after Rafael as he entered his home, carelessly dropping his briefcase and workout bag in the entryway. 

"She's a year older than us and she's _pretty_!" Stiles said loudly, and Rafael honestly couldn't tell if his tone was delighted or disgusted. "She's got boobs and a learner's permit and everything!"

"And she and Scott are official?" Rafael asked, peeling off his sweaty workout shirt as he strode into the living room. He hadn't stopped to bathe after exercising because the gym was close to home and he hated using the showers there. Any shower where he had to wear flip-flops and deal with other sweaty naked men was not a good shower in his opinion.

He realized that his question hadn't been answered after an extended period of silence followed it, and he turned to look at Stiles.

Stiles was looking back, but he was staring at Rafael's bared torso rather than meeting his eyes. His mouth was open in a round, wet circle of red, not that this was so unusual for him. The vacant expression wasn't exactly unfamiliar either, but Rafael couldn't help thinking that Stiles was more lost in what he was seeing than lost inside his own head, like normal.

"Stiles?" Rafael prompted, even though the fixed stare _was_ flattering; especially since he was pretty sure he knew what it meant. 

Stiles' eyes snapped up to his own, lashes flickering, his mouth closing for only a moment before his tongue flashed out to slide over his lips, wetting them, tasting the air. It was subtle, but Rafael didn't think he was imagining the hunger imprinted on Stiles' flushed features.

"What?"

Rafael smiled, hoping it didn't look too much like a smirk. "I asked if Scott and Allison were _officially_ dating," he repeated. "Last I heard they were just spending a lot of time together."

Stiles nodded vigorously. "Yup, it's all official now. She called him her boyfriend while she was talking to Lydia today and I thought Scott was going to pass out."

Rafael smiled fondly while Stiles chortled over the memory.

"Well, I'm going to go take a quick shower," he said, gesturing with his shirt, and that dragged Stiles' gaze right back to his chest. It was nice to know that _someone_ was getting something out of his regular workouts, Rafael thought ruefully. He was staying in good shape, and until today only the mirror had recognized that fact for... far too long. Time more easily counted in years than months, sadly.

Not to say he didn't go out and meet people, but he didn't exactly date, and his hook-ups were few and far between. Right now... well, right now he could admit that it had been a while.

"Okay," Stiles said absently, long, pale fingers playing over the straps of his backpack where he still had it slung over his shoulders. 

Stiles must have come right over after school, and Rafael wondered just how long he had been sitting waiting outside the apartment door. He was a little surprised that Stiles hadn't gotten bored and given up or wandered off, but when Stiles got focused, he got _hyper_ focused.

"Are you staying?" Rafael asked. For all he knew, Stiles might just have been wanting to tell him that Scott and Allison were officially dating now. 

Which, good for Scott. Rafael was proud, but he was also going to have to get his son some condoms and give him the "safe sex" lecture very soon now. Immediately, in fact. Scott and Allison might only be fourteen and fifteen respectively, but that didn't mean that passion wasn't going to get the best of their good judgment. Rafael could remember having been their age.

He wondered for a moment if Stiles had ever even been kissed, but then he recalled vividly the fact that Stiles had kissed _him_ , less than two weeks ago. They'd both ignored that, pretended it hadn't happened, but it most definitely _had_ happened.

Stiles wasn't popular in school, though. And so Rafael doubted he had girls -- or boys -- lining up to date him. It seemed cruel to think that, even in the privacy of his own head, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.

At least Scott seemed to have broken free of their social slump. And Stiles... well, he'd do better in high school, Rafael consoled himself. Or maybe college.

"If you don't mind," Stiles answered his question shyly. "Scott's out with Allison, and I didn't really want to be at home alone...."

"I don't mind," Rafael assured him, and it was totally true. He got a little lonely himself, sometimes; not that he intended to share this with Stiles. The fact that he was looking to his son's best friend for company was probably a little pathetic, but he honestly did enjoy spending time with Stiles. Especially when Scott wasn't there, because when he was he and Stiles mostly just behaved like rowdy boys together.

And that was completely aside from the nasty-bad, morally wrong, almost-definitely-not-one-sided attraction Rafael felt for the boy....

But he was standing here without a shirt and Stiles was back to staring at his chest, which wasn't the best time to be thinking such thoughts.

Rafael casually held his shirt in front of his crotch, hoping to hide the fact that merely having Stiles' eyes on him was getting him hard in his sweatpants.

"Go ahead and get a snack or a drink out of the kitchen," he offered, turning to head for his bathroom.

"Can I have both?" Stiles asked impishly, and when Rafael glanced back at him he was grinning. Then his gaze fell to Rafael's ass, and that look was _not_ just in Rafael's imagination.

"I might charge extra for that," Rafael warned. 

The sound of Stiles' laughter followed him as he went to grab some clothes to change into, and it warmed him to hear it. Not in a sexual way....

But he certainly was thinking of Stiles in a sexual way when he wrapped his hand around his hard cock while he was washing off his workout sweat and stripped a fast and hard orgasm out of himself within minutes.

For some reason it didn't feel wrong to join Stiles in the kitchen after he was done, dried off, and dressed, even though his cock was tingling in his fresh pair of underwear under his clean jeans. 

Stiles was still staring at him, cheeks red, even though he was clothed now, and Rafael wondered if he suspected what had happened in the shower, even though he'd made sure to be quiet about it.

Well, let the boy wonder. It wouldn't hurt him any, and maybe it'd get him worked up enough to make another bold move.

Though, really, kissing Rafael on the mouth had been pretty damned bold, he had to admit. Rafael couldn't do anything more about that, though. Whatever happened, if _anything_ happened, it was going to have to come from Stiles.

Rafael wasn't going to be the one pushing Stiles into anything... but maybe he could lead him a little. 

***

Another week passed, and Stiles was in Rafael's apartment almost every single workday. He'd been delighted when Rafael had given him a key, and it was now more than a little disappointing if Rafael came home and he _didn't_ find Stiles kneeling in the space between his sofa and coffee table, doing homework.

"Does your Dad know you're spending so much time here?" Rafael finally got around to asking, settling down on his sofa with a bottle of post-workout water and reaching over to ruffle Stiles' increasingly bushy hair. 

The kid really was overdue for a trim, but Rafael suspected the Sheriff was too busy right now to get that dealt with. At least it wasn't all buzzed off. Rafael probably shouldn't be touching Stiles at all, but he liked to have the soft, thick hair to run his fingers through.

"Nope." Stiles smiled at him and clambered up onto the sofa, curling his long legs under himself. "Dad thinks I'm with Scott. Scott's with Allison. If Dad knew, he'd tell Scott's Mom about Allison, and then Scott wouldn't get to spend as much time with her."

"Ah, I see. Sneaky." Rafael _did_ see. And he didn't disapprove, even though he probably should have. But Melissa would react like an overprotective mother, even if she tried to be okay with it. Scott was happy now, with his first girlfriend, and how could Rafael begrudge his son that pleasure?

Stiles shrugged, though he was grinning smugly. "It just makes sense." Then his expression grew more serious. "Why? Do you want me to spend less time here?" he asked anxiously.

"I like having you here," Rafael answered honestly. Then, because he couldn't resist, and because it was also true, he added, "I feel better knowing that someone is keeping an eye on you and making sure you don't get into trouble, since Scott is too busy with his girlfriend and your Dad's working."

Stiles wrinkled his adorable snub nose, but didn't argue. He was a smart enough kid to recognize and acknowledge that he was one hell of a handful. Since he was prone to acting before he thought, he tended to get into mischief even when that wasn't his intent. Scott had always been the voice of reason in their friendship, and Rafael dreaded to think of what a bored Stiles might be doing if he was out there, unsupervised, instead of hanging out in Rafael's apartment.

"What does Scott think of you spending so much time here, though?" he had to ask.

Stiles blinked. "He doesn't know," he replied unexpectedly. Then he shrugged, smiling crookedly at Rafael. "It'd be kind of weird, wouldn't it? Saying, 'Oh, since you're so busy with Allison I've been going over to your Dad's place every day.' He assumes I'm at home, probably, and I've got no reason to tell him otherwise."

Rafael nodded, mulling this over. It said something that Stiles was keeping his visits here to himself, even from Scott, who was his best friend and also Rafael's son. He wasn't sure _what_ it said about Stiles' mindset, but it had to say _something_.

It only made sense, really. Telling his father would result in Melissa finding out. And while Rafael doubted she'd make Scott stop seeing Allison entirely -- she was relatively easy-going and open-minded as a mother -- she'd want to make sure the young couple wouldn't be in situations where they would be tempted to have sex.

Rafael wasn't sure if they'd progressed that far, but he suspected it was likely, knowing teenagers and their hormones. He'd given Scott a supply of condoms and had subjected him to a thorough lecture about teen pregnancy and STDs that had left his son pale and shaken. 

Rafael was okay with his son being sexually active, and he thought it was more likely than not that Allison had been a virgin going into her relationship with his son so he doubted she was carrying anything communicable, but he really, _really_ didn't want to become a grandfather when his son was only fourteen. So he'd made sure that Scott knew how dangerous even protected sex was, and he'd made him swear to always use a condom, even if there was no actual penetration.

When Scott hadn't been pale his face had been a fiery red, but Rafael had been merciless. These were things his boy needed to know. And Rafael wasn't about to shy away from making sure Scott knew them. "Cool Dad" or not, Rafael didn't want his son making choices that would ruin his life, and so he had felt he had to step in.

Especially since Melissa evidently didn't know how much time Scott and Allison were spending together.

And neither Melissa nor the Sheriff knew that Stiles was spending his afternoons with Rafael. Not even Scott knew. That made this seem even more clandestine... even though it really was not.

To be honest, nothing _inappropriate_ had happened between them since that day Rafael had fixed the music box for Stiles and Stiles had kissed him on the mouth. But it had still been pleasant, spending quiet afternoons together before Stiles had to head home for dinner with his father.

Rafael was just as glad that Stiles was keeping this to himself. The Sheriff almost definitely would not have guessed at the feelings his teenage son was stirring up in Rafael -- how could he have? -- but he probably wouldn't approve of Stiles being over here so much, and he might try to put a stop to it.

And Rafael didn't want it to stop. He _liked_ coming home to find Stiles doing his homework or watching awful movies on his entertainment system.

"You're sure it's okay for me to be here?" Stiles asked again, his brows creasing in a little frown. He was plucking at the leg of his jeans, his fingers skinny and his nails chewed down to the quick. They were familiar hands and the sight of them shouldn't have made the base of Rafael's belly heat, but he could remember those short nails catching at the inseam of his own jeans, the heel of Stiles' palm brushing against the head of his erection....

Dammit.

Rafael tried to inconspicuously cross his legs, calf on the opposite knee, and drape his arms casually over his crotch. 

"Absolutely," he assured the boy. Stiles could be so insecure. Well, with a mother who'd died eight years ago and a father who worked a lot by necessity, it wasn't to be wondered at. Stiles wasn't needy, per se, but he did have a need to know that those he cared about were near and safe and that they cared about him in turn.

Stiles was gazing at him with bright eyes, and Rafael wondered if he was just that pleased to get the repeated approbation or if he'd noticed Rafael's burgeoning hard-on. 

Rafael's half-empty water was making a ring of condensation next to Stiles' half finished homework, but he didn't quite dare to reach for it, even though his mouth was a little dry right now. His hair was still damp from his post-workout shower, and he was in his comfy, loose jeans. Stiles was in his school clothes, but he was stocking-footed and had stripped off his plaid over-shirt so that his slogan teeshirt was on full display.

It was the Batman logo today. Rafael had always been a Marvel man himself, when he indulged in comics, but he could understand what Stiles saw in the Dark Knight.

"I'm glad," Stiles said, ducking his head and smiling shyly up at Rafael through his lashes. "Most people don't _want_ to spend time with me. Just Scott and you...."

"That can't be true," Rafael protested, even though it was probably mostly true. Stiles didn't have any other friends his age. And while Melissa and the Sheriff obviously loved the boy, it might be stretching it to say that either of them _wanted_ to spend time with him.... Well, outside of weekends, and when he wasn't getting into mischief, that was.

Stiles gave a spastic shrug and his eyes were now fixed on where he was still worrying at the hem of his jeans. He looked a little less happy now, and Rafael felt bad for him. Stiles was a boy who thrived on attention, and yet so many dismissed him without giving him a chance, without making an effort to see how unique and interesting he was.

"Well, I like spending time with you," he declared, even though it felt ham-handed and he was afraid it might come out sounding forced. "It's nice to have someone here when I get home some days," he added, and then, since that made it sound as though just anyone would do and it wasn't Stiles in particular he liked to come home to, he continued, "You're good company, kid."

Stiles blinked at him, looking a little confounded, but at least he didn't seem to be turned inward, thinking things that would depress him, any longer.

"So it's okay for me to wait for you here while you're working out?" Stiles asked, tilting his head to the side. Asking after a week of having done so.

Rafael nodded. "It's fine," he assured Stiles. Then he couldn't help adding impishly, "As long as you don't mind me coming home all sweaty and stinky and heading straight to the shower."

A heated flush kindled in Stiles' high cheekbones, and he sucked in a deep breath. "I think it's awesome that you work out," he declared, eyes wide and expression almost painfully earnest. "I wanna start working out. I wanna be as buff as you when I get old enough."

Rafael grinned. "Any time you want to start, just let me know."

Stiles gave him a suspicious look, as though he thought Rafael might be mocking his declaration or something. As though Rafael would do that. But then his face went thoughtful, and he lowered his gaze.

Before Rafael could react -- not that he would have -- Stiles had reached forward and placed his hand on Rafael's chest, fingers spread. It was a warm weight that went straight to his cock, even though the touch was on his upper torso, and his hard-on strained even more against the front of his jeans.

"Do you think I'll get hair on my chest?" Stiles wondered wistfully, staring at Rafael's chest as if he could see through the material of the shirt he was wearing to the curly hairs and smooth skin underneath.

"More than likely," Rafael replied, doing his damnedest to speak normally and not choke on the heated sensations of lust washing through him at this maybe-not-so-innocent touch. "After all, your Dad is pretty well furred, isn't he?"

Stiles grimaced, still not lifting his eyes, his fingers flexing so slowly and slightly that Rafael could almost think he imagined it... if he hadn't been so intensely attuned to every millimeter of pressure, to each breath that they each took. 

"Yeah, but I look like my Mom," Stiles said quietly, and now his thumb was rubbing a tiny spiral just about an inch below Rafael's right nipple. Stiles' ring finger was resting over top of his left nipple, and both of them were starting to peak. Not like Stiles' nipples had done when Rafael had been covering him with sunscreen at the beach, but his body's physical response to the sensation was undeniable

"And my Mom didn't have hair on her chest," Stiles finished, glancing at Rafael and tightening all his fingers for an instant, as though to grab a handful of his pectorals. His cheeks were flushed, his lower lip was dark and caught between his teeth, and there was unmistakable sexual arousal burning in his warm brown eyes.

The eyes that he'd also inherited from his mother.... And the memory of Claudia should have been enough to damped Rafael's ardor, but he evidently had no shame. Not when it came to Stiles, anyway.

"Well." He paused to clear his throat, because he knew his voice was only going to get more husky as he spoke. "You're only fourteen right now. You've got so much growing to do. I'm sure you'll be sprouting hair everywhere inside a year."

"I've already got pubes," Stiles declared bluntly because, Lord love him, he was _Stiles_ and he would never change. "Not a lot yet, but they're there."

Rafael knew this was true; he could clearly remember feeling them under his questing fingertips, when his hand had dipped beneath the waistband of Stiles' trunk while he'd put the sunscreen on for the boy.

Suddenly he wanted to _see_. And possibly to feel, more thoroughly. He wanted to thread his fingers all the way through whatever wispy hairs there were framing Stiles' groin, and he wanted his hand on Stiles' teenaged erection.

Because he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one sitting here with a hard-on. 

But he wasn't going to be the first one to make a move. Stiles' hand on his chest _could_ have been an innocent touch, despite the heat that Rafael was fairly sure he read in those dark brown eyes. Stiles was so young and Rafael was _not_ going to take advantage of the boy. Not without a clearer indication that Stiles wanted more than some companionship and a secondary father figure who had more time to spend with him than his own father had.

Not that the Sheriff didn't try. But Rafael's job was less demanding, and so he had more free time. Free time that he was very much willing to spend with Stiles.

If it hadn't been for Allison, Scott might have been here too. Or, more likely, Rafael was honest enough to admit, Stiles would be spending time with Scott at either Melissa's house or the Sheriff's house and _neither_ boy would be here.

Rafael wasn't grateful that Scott was brushing off his best friend for a female... but he _was_ grateful that Stiles was here right now.

Stiles removed his hand slowly, pads of his fingers catching lightly at the material of Rafael's shirt as he ever so slightly lingered, and then the warmth of his palm was gone.

Rafael had been far more bold on the beach, when he had essentially felt Stiles up while rubbing sunscreen all over his growing young body. But that had been the spur of the moment. He'd been thinking of that as an isolated incident... or, really, he hadn't been _thinking_ at all. Besides, it was different when he had Stiles spending so much time alone with him here in his apartment, just the two of them. 

It was very different, and hence Rafael's hesitancy in making a move too bold. 

Of course, Stiles was only fourteen and he had never been in anything even approaching a relationship. So no matter how impetuous he could often be, he was probably hesitant about potentially putting the moves on a grown man, no matter how well he knew Rafael and no matter how much he could trust him. 

Which was probably why Stiles now squirmed off the sofa and got back to his homework, ears burning and eyes fixed on his textbooks. 

This was disappointing, but not surprising. Rafael picked up his water and finished it off, then thought ruefully of the paperwork he had in his briefcase. He should probably start working on that....

Stiles had been brave in the past, enough so that Rafael was almost completely sure that he wasn't just projecting. 

Stiles had been disconcerted and shy when Rafael had touched him inappropriately while putting on his sunscreen. But he'd put his hand on Rafael's thigh and crawled into bed with him the last time he'd spent the night in his apartment. He'd _kissed Rafael on the mouth_. And Rafael could still feel the spot where Stiles had been very nearly caressing his chest, burning like a brand even though Stiles' touch was long gone.

Stiles wasn't toying with him, he wasn't being a cocktease. Rafael was sure of this. The boy was too straightforward to prevaricate like that. But he was fourteen and he wasn't ready to blatantly put the moves on the father of his best friend. Rafael could both understand and appreciate this.

Well, he was going to continue to make his apartment a safe place for Stiles to hang out. And he'd encourage any fumbling moves Stiles might want to make.

Rafael had made it this far not thinking too hard about what was happening. He'd let Stiles do what felt right for him and he'd play along. 

Really, at this point that was all that he felt he could do. He would leave it in Stiles' hands, and that was a very good place for it to be.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles knew that it was all kinds of dumb to be excited about going out on a "date" with Scott's Dad when it wasn't actually a real date. They were just going to be meeting at a coffee shop near where Rafael worked, right?

But it was _sort of_ like a date, even if Stiles knew that Rafael wasn't thinking of it that way. And while he knew that he shouldn't be calling it a date in his head -- not least of all because things that started out solely in his head had a tenancy to come spilling out of his mouth -- and while he knew that he should still be calling Scott's Dad "Mr. McCall" instead of calling him by his first name....

Well, Stiles knew there were a lot of things he shouldn't do that he did, but that had never stopped him before. 

Give him a little break here; Scott and Allison Argent were getting up to all kinds of stuff, they'd been on actual dates as well as groping each other in dark corners and wherever they could find some privacy. Hell, they'd even gone on a double date with Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore!

Stiles didn't want that. Not unless it was _him_ with Lydia and Jackson was at the bottom of a deep pond... or maybe just living in England or something As homicidal as Jackson made Stiles feel, and as much as Jackson bullied him, Stiles probably shouldn't wish him dead. For the sake of karma, and so that Stiles didn't grow up to be a sociopathic murderer. That would destroy his Dad, especially since he was the Sheriff and it would be his job to catch Stiles. Although, Stiles was smart, so he probably wouldn't get caught. But then again, this was his _Dad_ , and his Dad was really good at his job....

Wait, what was Stiles thinking about?

Oh, yeah, the not-date he was excited about.

Stiles knew there was no way in hell that Rafael was thinking of this as a date. He was a grown man and Stiles was only fourteen. Rafael was older than Mrs. McCall and almost as old as Stiles' own father. And Stiles was the same age as Scott, who was Rafael's son.

But from the way he looked at Stiles sometimes, Stiles didn't feel as though Rafael was just thinking of him as his son's annoying best friend, either.

Stiles blushed, trying not to stiffen up in his jeans. He had a key to Rafael's apartment and blanket permission to wait there while Rafael was at work and exercising after work. Sure, Rafael said it was to keep Stiles out of trouble... but he'd also said that he actually liked to spend time with Stiles. And he hadn't sounded as though he was lying.

No one had ever said that to Stiles before. Not without heavy sarcasm coloring the words, anyway.

Stiles still felt kind of weird when he thought about it. But weird in a good way. It made him feel all warm in the base of his belly.

He really had better try not to get an erection, though. He was standing outside the coffee place, waiting for Rafael, and that was pretty public. He wasn't even wearing a hoodie, so he couldn't jam his hands in the front pouch and try to hide his threatening hard-on that way. Nope, since he _felt_ like this was a date, even if it wasn't, Stiles had dressed nicely, in a dark button-up shirt over a clean white teeshirt, and his newest, nicest pair of jeans.

Stiles fidgeted, wondering if he should just go on inside.... But Rafael had promised to pay for his drink, and it would be even more awkward hanging around at the counter without ordering than it was hanging around outside the door.

Rafael was going to buy him a pastry, too. He had some making up to do, since he'd been so busy at work he'd not only neglected to come home until after Stiles had given up and left his apartment for the past _two days_ , but he'd also forgotten to text Stiles and let him know, _both days_.

Stiles was still a little boggled that he had Rafael's cell phone number. The only other numbers he had on his phone were his Dad's work and cell phones, Melissa's home and cell phones, Scott's and Allison's cells, and Lydia's number... which last Stiles had gotten super secretly and would never ever dare to use. Not least of all because Lydia had no idea that he had it.

But Rafael had willingly given Stiles his number, and now that Scott was spending all his time with Allison, he actually contacted Stiles more than his own son did. Which didn't seem right, not when Scott was Stiles' best friend.... 

Rafael was something else, and Stiles didn't know how to label it, but he sure as hell knew he wasn't imagining it.

Like this coffee date. There was no reason Rafael needed to make anything up to Stiles. Not really. And he definitely didn't need to meet him for drinks. But he was still busy at work even though it was a Saturday, and this was all the time he could take away.

Stiles fidgeted some more and checked the time. Rafael was going to be officially late meeting him in just one more minute... not that Stiles was planning on holding _that_ against him. Not when he'd so often been late himself. The fact that Stiles had arrived here at the coffee place almost fifteen minutes early....

Well, that spoke of an eagerness that made him blush to recognize it, and there was no way he was letting Rafael know!

Stiles wasn't sure why Rafael didn't treat him like an annoying little kid, the way most other adults did. Even Melissa, who loved him, brushed him off more often than she took him seriously. Even his own _Dad_ , though Stiles thought that after fourteen years of dealing with Stiles, his father could probably be forgiven if he sometimes ignored him and didn't always take him seriously.

But Rafael treated him like a person, like he mattered, and he didn't talk down to Stiles. Well, okay, he occasionally did, but he always apologized when Stiles called him on it. And he'd _said_ that he liked spending time with Stiles.

That was such a novel concept that Stiles felt Rafael had earned his undying loyalty for that statement alone. And that was why Stiles had made an extra effort with his hair before setting out for the coffee place today.

Even though this totally wasn't a date. At least not outside his own head.

Exactly two and half minutes after the time he'd designated to meet Stiles, Rafael McCall hove into view. He was so tall, Stiles thought with a certain possessive fondness, that it was always easy to see him coming, even though Stiles himself was still fairly short.

It was exciting for Stiles in ways that he was only just beginning to figure out, that he had the undivided attention of such a tall, strong, older man. Scott might be getting off with Allison in varied ways that he only hinted about to Stiles -- Stiles was torn between being annoyed that Scott wasn't spilling everything and being proud of Scott for being a gentleman -- but Stiles had... he had....

Well, he had _something_ with Rafael. 

He knew he wasn't imagining things. From the very first time Rafael had shown an interest in him. Sexually, that was. It had been at the beach; at least that had been the first time Stiles had noticed it. When Rafael had spent extra time rubbing sunscreen on his nipples and then had dipped his fingers under the waistband of Stiles' swim trunks, in front and back....

Touching Stiles with his big hands, smoothing on the sunscreen with slow, lingering strokes, tracing circles around his nipples.... 

Now Stiles was flushed, even though he was already grinning in greeting as Rafael joined him. And Rafael was smiling, and he looked genuinely happy to see Stiles, and that was so weird but so awesome at the same time.

"Hey, Stiles," he said, squeezing the nape of Stiles' neck in greeting. It felt different when Rafael did it, different from when Stiles' Dad did it. And Stiles was still feeling that warm flush, in his chest and in his belly.

"Hey," he replied, as casually as he could. 

"You look good," Rafael said, and he was still smiling and he didn't seem to be teasing Stiles or humoring him.

Stiles flushed more deeply, suddenly embarrassed even though Rafael had just complimented him. After all, it was silly to be dressed up on a Saturday while meeting someone for coffee at something that was most definitely _not_ a date.

"I just didn't want to look all sloppy when you were wearing your work clothes," Stiles said, waving his hands around. Rafael's shirt was a little wrinkled and his tie was tugged down, but he was still looking sharp and sexy. Stiles felt a little silly in his button-up, but he was glad he wasn't in his hoodie.

"Well, I appreciate the thought, and it was worth the effort," Rafael told him, and Stiles smiled shyly, then turned and opened the door because he didn't know what else to say.

They went inside and made their choices while waiting in line. The place was kind of busy, since it was around noon on a Saturday, but most of the people were taking their fancy coffees to go, so there were some tables free.

Once they got to the counter Rafael ordered them some pastries and got himself a large drip coffee. Stiles wanted to get a coffee too, not some silly kid drink, but he also wanted to avoid destroying his taste buds. So he got a decaf mocha with extra cream and some hazelnut added. It wasn't cheap, but Rafael was paying and he _had_ said that he owed Stiles.

Stiles felt like a grown-up, ordering a tasty coffee beverage, and he felt even more like a grown-up when he and Rafael sat at a small table together with their drinks and snacks. Stiles had a chocolate croissant and Rafael had a tomato and cheese pastry.

"That's not lunch, is it?" Stiles asked, frowning as Rafael bit into his pastry with a hungry sound. He knew that no one liked a nag, but Rafael looked tired and worn down and Stiles wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself. He lived alone, after all, so there was no one to do it for him.

Rafael shook his head. "I'll have lunch once I get back to my desk," he said, after he'd chewed and swallowed. "But this will tide me over until then."

Stiles sighed, then sipped his own coffee and tore a piece off of his croissant. He made sure his feet were firmly planted on the floor and that his back was straight. He was sitting in a coffee shop with a tall, strong, attractive man, and there was a bitter taste of coffee on his tongue, despite all the milk and sugar in his drink. He might be only fourteen, but he was feeling almost like an adult right now, and he really liked this. He knew Rafael couldn't spare him more than a half hour, but he intended to enjoy what time he had with the man.

"What about dinner?" he pursued, because it sounded like Rafael would be eating a late lunch at his desk and Stiles hoped he wasn't planning on staying at work super late and not eating dinner. Especially on a _Saturday_.

"I'm gonna pick up some take-out on the way home," Rafael said, finishing off his pastry in three big bites. 

Stiles drank some more of his coffee, staring at Rafael. There were a lot of places that were still open late, and that statement did nothing to set his mind at ease.

Rafael smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that was _completely_ different from Stiles' Dad, and also sexy. "Don't worry," he reassured Stiles, reaching under the small table and patting Stiles' knee. "Tonight is the last big push so things should be back to normal tomorrow. And if they're not and I have to work late again Monday I'll be sure to text you and let you know."

Stiles nodded. He wasn't concerned for his own sake, but rather for Rafael's. Granted, he was a grown man who could take care of himself and, in fact, was supposed to be the one watching out for Scott and sometimes Stiles.... but Stiles knew that people like Rafael, his Dad, and Mrs. McCall often worked too hard and _didn't_ take care of themselves, even though they should have.

That was why Stiles made such an effort to make sure his Dad ate healthy. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do. His Dad worked a potentially dangerous job, but Stiles couldn't ask him to quit. He _could_ , however, make sure that his Dad's heart was strong and his health was at its best.

Rafael wasn't Stiles' responsibility, but when Stiles looked at the shadows under his dark brown eyes -- so like Scott's and yet so unlike them -- he couldn't help but worry.

"Okay," was all he said, though, because he might fret but Rafael wasn't his father to boss around. Stiles _was_ looking forward to hopefully seeing Rafael at his apartment on Monday, after school, though. He'd missed him, more than expected.

"You're a good kid," Rafael said, smiling fondly at Stiles, and that was nice but Stiles still bristled a little. It sounded too dismissive, when Stiles was sitting here, sipping his coffee and nibbling on a chocolate croissant, ready to carry on a perfectly adult conversation.

"I hope you're taking care of yourself," Stiles said, because he never knew when to leave well enough alone. 

Rafael smiled and reached under the table to squeeze Stiles' thigh, real quick so that no one would notice, and Stiles _was so sure_ that he wasn't just imagining things.

It just seemed so impossible that anyone could want him. Or, well, Stiles knew he wasn't _ugly_ or anything. But he was no Jackson Whittemore, with muscles and money and a stupidly symmetrical face with insane cheekbones. No one at school looked twice at Stiles, girls or boys. And it was weird to think that Rafael, a man who was literally old enough to be Stiles' father, and who was the father of his best friend, might... want him?

Stiles just kept coming back to that day on the beach, and thinking that there was no way he was reading too much into it. Rafael had spent, like, ten times as long putting on his sunscreen as necessary, and had essentially felt him up, teasing Stiles' nipples and tugging at Stiles' scant pubes with his fingertips. 

And Stiles was pretty sure that he'd caused Rafael to get hard a few times since then? Not really on purpose, but definitely not accidentally.... That night when he and Scott had spent the night in Rafael's apartment, when he'd been watching a movie on the sofa with Rafael in the middle of the night, Stiles hadn't really _meant_ to put his hand on the man's thigh. He hadn't stopped himself, though. And once he'd realized his palm was practically brushing Rafael's dick... well, he still hadn't moved his hand.

It had been bold, as had been crawling in bed with Rafael, jerking off in his bed while he and Scott made breakfast, and then kissing Rafael on the mouth after he'd fixed Stiles' Mom's jewelry box. Stiles hadn't known he could be so brave.

But Rafael had yet to do anything in return. Well, since those sensual, breath-sapping minutes on the beach, of course, when he'd had his hands all over Stiles' mostly bared body.

Stiles wanted to feel that again, without the chemical tang of sunscreen and without Scott running around, interrupting things, but he wasn't sure how to go about making it happen. He was so afraid that if he did something crazy like straddle Rafael's lap and try to kiss him, Rafael would kick him out of the apartment and tell him to never come back. Or, worse, tell his _Dad_!

So, even though Rafael watched him with hot, heavy-lidded eyes, even though Stiles was relatively certain he wasn't misreading things, he was scared to death of making a move more bold than the ones he'd already made.

Stiles was just a junior high student who'd never been on a date, after all. Never been kissed -- aside from the quick kiss he'd given Rafael, which didn't really count because he'd taken the man by surprise and then run away -- and he definitely had no experience whatsoever to draw from.

Stiles knew he was pink, his cheeks hot and blotchy, but he couldn't help it. Thinking about sex was getting him all horny, and thinking about making a move on Rafael was making him embarrassed, and he _knew_ this wasn't a real date, but it felt like one, and he wanted it to be one, so badly, and--

"You okay, Stiles?" Rafael asked, and Stiles blushed harder, because he knew that no one could actually read his thoughts, but he felt like they were emblazoned all over his face.

He nodded, taking a big gulp of his drink to give himself a moment. 

"I'm fine," he answered, and he'd just opened his mouth to change the subject -- though he had no idea what he was going to change it to -- when a stocky woman with too much makeup on and obviously fake blonde hair materialized beside their table.

"McCall," she trilled, her voice more girlish than her appearance would suggest. "Fancy meeting you here."

She pulled up a chair uninvited and plopped herself down, completely ignoring Stiles' presence, her gaze fixed on Rafael.

"Angela," Rafael said, more in surprise than greeting. His eyebrows were up and he didn't look pleased. Stiles wanted to tell this woman to get lost, but he knew he'd get in trouble for being impolite if he did so. Even though this Angela was the one being really rude right now.

"I wanted to talk to you about Henderson," the woman said, and she was probably one of Rafael's co-workers. They _were_ near his building, after all, and it was lunch time, even if it was a Saturday.

"You can stop by my office any time this afternoon," Rafael told her bluntly. "I'm busy right now."

Angela's eyes flickered over to Stiles and away from him almost immediately, as though he didn't matter in the slightest. Stiles scowled, feeling hurt even though he knew it was this woman who thought that way, not Rafael.

"This will only take a second," she said, leaning forward.

Rafael glared at her. There was no other word for it. "I'm having my lunch break," he said, keeping his voice even, but Stiles could tell he was angry. He wondered if Angela couldn't tell, or if she just didn't care. "And you're interrupting."

His co-worker didn't seem cowed in the slightest, though at least she sat back a little and turned her attention to Stiles.

"Is this your son?" she asked, thin brows rising, looking at him with something approaching actual interest.

"My son's best friend," Rafael told her. "This is Stiles Stilinski." 

It was something like an introduction, even if Stiles didn't care whether she knew his name, and he didn't care to know hers, even though he'd heard Rafael say it. He just wanted her to go away.

"Oh, well then," Angela said dismissively, actually waving a hand in Stiles' direction as though to shoo him away. "About Henderson--"

"I told you," Rafael interrupted, his lips thin and brows heavy. Stiles thought that this Angela must be either really stupid or really self-absorbed not to be picking up on Rafael's body language, much less his harsh tone of voice. "I'm on my short lunch on a Saturday. I'll talk about work once I'm back at the office and not a moment before."

Angela's face tightened up in a disapproving expression, but Rafael wasn't done.

"And you are being rude to both me and Stiles. An apology wouldn't be a bad idea."

Stiles hid his smirk behind his coffee cup as Angela's mouth fell open. The barista called out what was evidently her drink, and she rose to get it, then swanned out of the coffee shop without a backward glance, nose so far in the air that she almost ran into the door on her way out.

"Are you going to get into trouble for that?" Stiles couldn't help asking, even though he knew that Rafael was a grown man who could pick and fight and win his own battles.

"For what; pointing out that she was being rude to both you and to me?" Rafael snorted, drinking more coffee. "No, Stiles, but thank you for the concern."

"Thank you for sticking up for me," Stiles said softly, fingers clenching around his cup. 

"There was no call for her to be that rude," Rafael said, reaching out one of his long arms to shove the chair Angela had briefly sat on back to the table beside theirs. "Not to either of us, but especially not to you. It was clear that I was here with you, and she just acted as though you didn't exist."

Stiles shrugged. "I'm just a kid," he offered, even though he one-hundred percent agreed with Rafael about his co-worker's rudeness.

Now Rafael was glaring at _Stiles_. It didn't scare him, though. Instead, it made him feel warm all the way through; the more so when Rafael said;

"I'm here to spend my half hour lunch with _you_ , Stiles. This is my choice and it's how I want to spend my time."

Stiles couldn't stop the grin that broke over his face, and he straightened from the slump he'd fallen into while Rafael had been dealing with Angela. 

"Thank you," he said, the last word ending in a little bit of a squeak as Rafael reached under the table and palmed his knee. It wasn't a squeeze, and the touch didn't linger, since they were in a public place and the table was too tiny to hide anything, but it was definitely _meant_.

Stiles was still red, but he was also still smiling, and he still felt like a grown-up on a date even if it wasn't true. He sipped some more coffee, tasting the sugar and sweet on his tongue, and he could feel the phantom echo of warmth on his knee even though Rafael had removed his hand.

"So what have you been working on so hard?" he asked, because that was what a grown-up would ask about, right?

Rafael grinned and shook his head. "I'd like to get away from that for this half hour, Stiles. Besides, you'd be bored if I actually answered your question."

Stiles nodded, recognizing the truth in those words. "What do you want to talk about, then?" he asked, and he fully expected that Rafael would ask him how school was going, how Scott was doing, maybe about how his Dad was....

"Have you played any good games lately?" Rafael asked, and he sounded as though he actually cared about the answer, his eyes fixed intently on Stiles' face.

Well, he had asked, and so Stiles told him, and Rafael remained interested and engaged, which Stiles had not been expecting. But, really, how was this different than when they were hanging out in Rafael's apartment? It was true that some of the time Stiles was doing his homework, but they talked too, and played games, and watched movies.

The half hour went by way too quickly. A couple of minutes after Rafael's coworker left, Rafael slouched a little and stretched his long legs out under the table, and the next thing Stiles knew, the inside of one of Rafael's thighs was pressed against his knee, warm and solid. It wasn't an accident and Rafael didn't move it through the rest of their time in the coffee shop, and Stiles was sure, was _sure_ that it meant something.

This was so totally a date. 

Stiles was going to have to step things up, though, if he wanted anything more. And he did, he wanted more.

Now, he just needed to come up with a plan of attack.

Well, if there was one thing Stiles was good at, it was coming up with plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually change PoV so far into the fic, but more than one person wanted to see Stiles' PoV, and I kind of wanted to write it, so here you go. ^_^;;


End file.
